


To Make It Better

by Novanii



Series: Runner [3]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Absolutely harmless fluff, Adam hurts himself and Kenny helps him-- Despite Adam's best efforts, M/M, Set after 05/20/20 Dynamite, mention of past physical and emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novanii/pseuds/Novanii
Summary: Adam returns to Jacksonville after almost two months' leave of absence. While catching up with his partner, an old wound rears its ugly head.
Relationships: Kenny Omega/"Hangman" Adam Page
Series: Runner [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055381
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	To Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with The Decade, check-out some of their work: https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=681&v=e1bCfQPfGzk&feature=youtu.be

**Prompt:** He and Adam don’t spar often, but Kenny’s teasing (that was perhaps a bit too real) about the go home show before the Stadium Stampede match while sitting in on Adam’s work out session led to Adam, sweaty and smiling, spearing him to the mat. And off they went—until Adam groans low in his throat, knee almost buckling from what Kenny recognizes as pain. "Shit." He grabs Adam’s shoulder, forcing him to lean against him to ease the strain. "I know your knee’s bothered you before. I’m sorry—"

**A.**

Metal struck metal and the bar returned to the rack. Face red, sweat soaking his skin and abdomen, Adam huffed, lungs compressing to catch his breath. He slapped his palms against his chest, a satisfying ache working in his muscles and bones as he sat-up. Blood in his veins, heartbeat on the upswing. Adam pawed down at his side for his water bottle. His swiping fingers found the plastic container and he lifted the mouthpiece to his parched lips to take a swig. Bright morning light spilled into the hotel gym and ignited dust flurries, stirred-up by the whirling fans. The weight room smelled of sweat, disinfectant, and that weird, rubber scent that came off the floor mats. Adam over at Kenny, perched on a weight bench a few feet away. Kenny rested his hands on his knees, sweat beaded at his hairline and his chest red from exertion. His untamed, uncombed hair, puffed-out in wild angles around his face. 

Unladen by a hangover, Kenny had woken-up before Adam. Hit the weights before Adam, and finished his work-out before Adam. According to Kenny that meant he had earned the right to heckle as Adam, twenty minutes behind, finished his own reps. Instead of getting breakfast or attending to any important EVP duties, of course. It was like Adam had a personal peanut gallery of one. In the middle of some lunges that Kenny commentated on like it was a live match, Adam had thrown in Kenny’s face the accusation that he had better things to do. An idea Kenny denied with gusto. The early bird got to throw the potshots, as they say. This was bonding time and Adam would have to put up with it.

"You know,” Kenny began with a laugh, all grin, teeth flashing white. He tapped the back of his knuckles against his thigh and a quick jitter shook his finger. “I can’t believe you were late to save me last night! Me, your tag-team partner of--” Kenny counted on his fingers, brow furrowing, lips moving and muttering under his breath. His eyes drifted-off into some forlorn corner of the room, or another dimension, Adam couldn't tell. 

“Seven months?” Adam supplied and almost smacked himself for being helpful.

“Seven months! Seven months! And you were late!” Kenny exclaimed. “All because you had to make a dramatic entrance. You may as well have ridden in on horseback, or something!”

“Now _there’s_ an idea,” Adam muttered, as he pressed to his feet.

It was quite the image. Adam Page, in chaps and cowboy boots, chasing down the Inner Circle astride a noble steed. Like the lone ranger, or a real John Wayne type. It was the kinda thing that made his inner child ecstatic. Shit, his _inner twenty-nine year old_ was excited about it. A chuckle and a shake of his head dislodged the thought. Adam exchanged his water bottle for the towel folded at his feet. He mopped sweat off his back and neck. As he walked by Kenny he weaponized the towel to swat at his partner.

“Hey, a little sympathy here!” Kenny protested. His hands and arms lifted to defend himself, but he dipped back on the bench so the towel whiffed. Kenny clutched at his stomach. “Didn’t I get kidnapped last night? Held down while I was savagely beaten by the vicious and cruel Inner Circle? They had a baseball bat!”

“Didn’t I see you doing deadlifts earlier?” Adam returned. From a stack on the back wall, he grabbed a couple of plates. He returned to add the extra weights to the bar. An eyebrow lifted as he glanced over his shoulder at Kenny. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re just milking it for the pity, Kenny.”

Kenny giggled, a low rumble, deep in his chest as his hand smoothed over his mouth. Mischief glinted in his eyes, playful. Missed that grin and Kenny’s crooked tooth. Missed human interaction in general. Human brains were hardwired to be around people and Adam was no exception. Isolation didn’t settle him even if it was quieter, safer. Twenty-four hours after his return to civilization and Adam felt better. A little less on edge and up in his own cranium. He was grinning more, his head clearer, his thoughts sharper, and his energy higher. Like his whole mood was on the upswing. Made him want to gather the boys and go chill in a hotel room like they used to. Talking trash and shooting the breeze while waiting for room service, bearing carbs they shouldn't have. But, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t because that was a terrible, dangerous idea. Because it wasn’t like it used to be and it never was going to be again.

Didn’t mean he didn’t miss it.

Adam left for a couple of weeks to have an existential breakdown in the woods and everything goes to Hell in a handbasket. He returned yesterday morning, unaware and blissful, to attend medical checks and production meetings. Everything he had to do to clear him for TV and combat next week. Adam had crept the halls, careful to avoid his entire stable, who’d been collectively on mute for a whole month. It wasn’t personal well, in the Buck’s case it kinda was— his brain was just fried dough at the start of April, and answering a phone required a lot of emotional labor he was not capable of. Then, fresh out of the doctor’s office, Adam heard by the grapevine that his partner was tied to a goalpost in the football field and getting the ever-loving crap beaten out of him. Like any good cowboy, Adam hitched his britches and scooted down there to kick ass. Kenny was mostly unharmed, thanks to the prompt efforts of the Bucks and Matt Hardy, of all people. At best, Adam got the cool satisfaction of hitting Jake Hager with a fifty-yard buckshot lariat. Even if he almost pulled his leg in the process. Now, Matt Jackson summoned him for a big, crazy match the Elite had cooked-up to put the Inner Circle down for good on Saturday. If Chris Jericho had hit anyone else with a baseball, Adam may’ve said ‘no,’ but he hit Kenny.

And that just would not stand.

Adam squeezed the clamps tight and secured the extra weight. He planted his sneaker on the edge of the bench and pushed it out of the way, the legs dragging on the concrete. Adam stepped under the bar and settled the cold, biting metal across his shoulders. He adjusted his grip, inched his feet-out past shoulder width, and tightened through his core. Adam lifted the bar off the rack. For a second he stood there, letting his body accustom to the weight. Then he sunk down, knees bending, center of balance tipped into his heels. He counted the reps underneath his breath, as he exhaled on each squat. On nine, he dipped, and at the bottom, his knee clicked. A pull in what felt like the muscle atop the joint, that bit with pain. Adam shifted his stance and widened his feet as he pushed back up. Kenny, quiet now on the bench, watching him, expression placid, inspecting. Adam rose and he completed his final squat, but he didn’t fall as low. The bar returned to the rack and Adam rolled out his ankle. He massaged his knee and rubbed his hand down his thigh, soothing the tense muscles. Adam straightened, walk it off, moving on, it was fine.

“You know, they basically tortured me, right?” Kenny intoned, suddenly, breaking Adam’s fussing thoughts over his knee. Kenny stood, gesturing broadly and dramatically. “That had to violate some international agreement, cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe I deserve that pity, c’mon, Adam, at least a little sympathy.”

Adam slipped out from under the bar. He had some bicep curls he was supposed to do and then he’d be done but he was noticing the open mat behind Kenny. Black, two inches thick, only a little more forgiving than the concrete underneath it. Probably laid out to do calisthenics on. Kenny and Adam had taken bumps on harder surfaces. Adam hooked his thumb in his waistband, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“I must have the cruelest tag partner ever!” Kenny whined. “I get hit with a baseball bat and he doesn’t even care!”

“I’m starting to think you’re never gonna let this go,” Adam said, he picked up his water bottle and took a swig. “Just because I wasn’t first to save your dumb ass, how did Chris Jericho even catch you in the first place?”

“I was following a trail of figurines,” Kenny elaborated. Adam chuckled, ducking his head, thumb running over his mouth to hide his grin. “Leading right out to the field. You didn’t even ask if I was okay before you left?! Some knight in shining armor you are.”

“Are you okay, Kenny?” Adam asked, glancing-up. There was genuine concern in the question even if Adam’s grin was half-cocked.

Kenny’s bottom lip jutted out, obviously not pleased with this. “I told you I’m _hurt_ , Page.” 

Adam wasn't sure if Kenny was talking about physical or emotional wounds, maybe both. A couple of hits to the gut wouldn’t put down Kenny Omega. Not when he could see them coming and brace. This morning Kenny said he was fine if a little sore. He'd lay off abs for a day or two, and everything would be fine. Adam decided this was typical Kenny antics and dramatics. If he was able to whine like this, Adam had to assume he was fine. Kenny, despite his tendency to complain, was tougher than nails. 

“You want me to kiss it and make it better?” Adam asked.

“Don’t make fun of me!” Kenny put his hands on his hips. He wagged his finger. “For that, you owe me a real kiss.”

“Yeah, ok,” Adam said. He jutted his chin out. “Just close your eyes. If you start to look at me I’ll get embarrassed, or something.”

Kenny grinned, nodded his head, and tapped his finger against his cheek. He closed his eyes, and interlaced his hands in front of him, waiting for Adam to plant one. Instead, Adam bounced on his toes, braced his back leg, and broke into a sprint. Adam tackled Kenny around the middle. One arm hooked around Kenny’s abdomen and the other scooped his leg. An absurd, squawking noise, ripped from Kenny’s throat. A sound akin to a chicken caught with its leg in a bear trap. Adam tackled Kenny with all the gusto of a linebacker in the final quarter. The two men crashed to the mat in a heap of limbs. Adam hooked Kenny’s far leg and rolled him up, his full weight bearing down on Kenny’s shoulders.

“One! Two! Three!” Adam barked and then broke from the pin. He fell back on his hip, chest heaving with laughter and cheeks blotchy. There were tears in his eyes and his ribs hurt. He swung his leg around into a kneel, hand pressing against his knee to balance himself. 

“I hate you, you son of a bitch!” Kenny flipped upright, arms flailing and cursing up a storm. “You son of a bitch! _You son of a bitch_!”

Adam shoved at Kenny’s shoulder and Kenny smacked at his shins. Adam cracked with more laughter. This was the kinda shit that was going to get him in meetings later. The laughter vanished when Kenny caught Adam’s hand by the wrist and turned it over, twisting Adam’s arm all the way to the shoulder. Kenny slipped under Adam’s arm and rose to his feet as he locked Adam’s elbow, hand braced on Adam’s tricep.

“Ah-ha!” Kenny laughed, that noise turned into a strangled, “oof,” when Adam drove his shoulder into Kenny’s stomach.

Adam stepped into the armbar to leverage the limb from Kenny’s grip. He reached over his head and hooked the back of Kenny’s neck. He scooped Kenny's far leg. Adam stood as he drew Kenny’s full weight across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Kenny squirmed, and wiggled, shoving his hands against Adam’s head to free himself. They separated, hands up, skirting away from each other with quick and frantic footwork. For a second, Kenny and Adam stared at each other, both frozen, eyes locked, breathing heavy, and faces flushed. Adam shifted his weight left and Kenny shifted right, to block him. Then to the right and to the left-- Kenny rushed in, leading with an open hand jab. His palm swiped Adam’s cheek before Adam reacted. A quick guard, skirting under Kenny’s hands, he tapped him twice in the ribs before darting off to the side.

Kenny was so quick, staying on his toes, darting in and out. Adam used his elbows to stuff kicks thrown for his sides. Kenny cussed him when Adam brought the point of his elbow right down on his ankle. It was nothing but a quick round of open hand slap boxing, small taps, or pokes to find opportunities. When Adam stepped in for a hook though, Kenny dropped in front of him and Adam missed clean. Kenny rolled from a low kneel onto his hip. One foot hooked behind Adam’s ankle and he wedged his heel against the top of Adam’s thigh. Adam’s leg locked and he fell back, arms pushing in front of his chest as he tucked his chin for the fall. There was a laugh in his mouth as he flattened against the mat but the twinge that ran up his leg registered as pain. That muscle or tendon, or whatever, in his knee, had pulled again. He vocalized it, groaning deep in his throat. Suddenly, all the pressure on Adam’s joint abated. Kenny was at his side, pulling at his shoulder, elbow wedged in the mat so he could cup Adam’s cheek.

“You okay?!” Worry bit Kenny’s tone, he searched Adam's face. He adjusted his hand to grip at Adam’s neck and shoulder. “Did I hurt you?!”

“It’s fine— I’m fine,” Adam sat-up, waving Kenny off. Kenny’s arm hooked around his shoulders, pulling Adam against his chest. Adam’s reached down for his knee and it pulsed beneath his touch. Not too painful, just stiff, and a little pulled he decided. An old injury flaring up again. “Just tweaked my knee is all, I’ll be fine.”

Kenny held tight to Adam’s shoulder, nails blunt against Adam’s bare skin. He pulled Adam across his lap so Adam rested against his thighs. Pawing for a grip, Adam braced his hand against Kenny's leg and sat-up further. He watched as Kenny relinquished his hold on Adam to reach for his knee. With a discerning eye, Kenny investigated the injury, jaw worked tight, and thumb pressing into soft tissue. Despite himself, Adam scowled, lips pressing thin as Kenny worked his fingers over the joint, the top of his calf and thigh. He grunted when Kenny pushed his thumb into the sore tendon. Adam flinched and cursed under his breath. He jerked his leg out of Kenny’s grip. "Ah, Jesus man."

There was an apology at the tip of Kenny's lips.

“I’m fine, it’s fine, it’s no big deal,” Adam breathed. He hooked his good leg under him and rolled onto his hip. Careful not to flex the pulled leg, he pushed onto his feet. Kenny’s hands were on his shoulders, under his arm to keep him balanced. “Kenny, you’re overreacting.”

“Heck, no I’m not, you’re like a cat, dude,” Kenny snapped. Adam’s brow furrowed as he looked at him. “You know, like a cat? A cat gets hurt or sick, and they act like nothing’s wrong, you know play it cool, you can’t tell the difference, but they’re not okay. They’re just acting like that so they don’t get—” The crease between Adam’s eyes had only depended. “Oh, never mind! I’m taking you back to your hotel room, so we can get some ice on that.”

“Kenny, seriously,” Adam said. He put his hand on Kenny’s bicep and drew to his full height. Even as he crooked his leg under him to avoid putting his weight on it. He could feel it, this was a sleep-it-off thing. No big deal, he’d be fine for Saturday, and there was no reason to care about it beyond that. “It’s cool, I’m fine, chill out, man. I’ll walk it off. Look, I’ve already done cardio, weights, everything today, and I’ve been fine.”

“Mhmm, no, nope, I don’t think so,” Kenny countered, he shook his head. While he muttered he crossed the room to swipe Adam's towel, water bottle, and shirt from the bench. He handed Adam his shirt. “I can either carry you back, bridal style, right across the lobby, or you take my arm and we limp back together.” To emphasize his point Kenny offered his arm.

“Oh, really?” Adam asked. He took the shirt from Kenny and yanked it on.

Kenny was in a mood, eyes locked on his face, and not moving from his position in front of Adam. When Kenny got an idea like this, there was no stopping him. Even a slight press of weight on his knee though and an ache spread through his thigh. Adam could make it back to his room but he’d be doing it on a limp. All while making an entire ship of hardened sailors blush. Which would suck but Adam had had much, much worse, in his time.

Not that the image of him, cradled in Kenny’s strong arms, as he marched across the crowded lobby to the shock and awe of the guests, wasn’t appealing— but Adam would rather take the arm. Nevermind explaining to the Bucks why Kenny threw out his back before a big fight. 

“Alright, fine, okay, but you are making too big of a deal of this, for the record,” Adam said, yet, he hooked his hand around Kenny’s opposite shoulder. Kenny wrapped his hand around Adam’s waist, pulling him hip-to-hip so Adam leaned his weight on him. In his head, Adam told his stuttering heart to shut the fuck. “As soon as you leave, I’m just going to go about my day, like normal, you know that right?”

“Guess I can’t leave you alone all day then,” Kenny joked, as he took the first step. He watched carefully as Adam leaned into him on the second stride, avoiding his right leg. “Don’t we deserve a rest day?”

“Don’t you have a job?” Adam countered, not bringing-up that _he'd_ already been on an extended vacation. Kenny used his hip to push open the door of the gym and they limped together across the lobby. A couple of kids by the check-out desk watched them pass. Adam stuck out his tongue and the little girl stuck out her tongue back. “You know production, for a big pay-per-view, this Saturday? Ringing any bells? Hitting Chris Jericho with a trash can, maybe?”

“Eh, they’ll call me if they need me,” Kenny shrugged.

At the far end of the hall Kenny pressed the call button for the elevator and a moment later the doors chimed open. In the confines, of the small, empty space, Adam and Kenny could untangle. Instead, they stood there, watching the floors rise. Kenny tightened his grip on Adam’s hip, fingers pressed into his side. The gesture was almost possessive and demanding, that Adam _stay._ Adam was wondering if all this was more for Kenny’s benefit than his own.

It wasn’t like he had his phone out in the wilderness. The improvised camping trip was a spur of the moment, making use of a couple of weeks of vacation he had saved up. All the suits knew where Adam was and what he was doing, it was all above board. Kenny would just do some singles stuff. And, Adam, would get time to sit by a running creek with a cracking fire, with nothing but his thoughts. This past year had been shit. He’d been a bad friend. He’d screwed up, a lot. He’d become tag-champion. Revolution, fighting with the Bucks, and putting Nick through a table had driven Adam to a brink. For a couple of weeks in early March, he tettered on the line between oblivion and certain destruction. It was the inevitable crack as Adam snapped under the pressure. Every day since his _bitter_ loss to Chris Jericho, the universe had been piling on weight, and it had driven Adam to his knees. But in the woods, it was just Adam and that tiny frog he spotted on a log before he went to bed one night. Just a tiny frog, doing tiny frog things on a log. Tiny frog did not care about the Inner Circle kicking the shit out of the Elite or title defenses. It just wanted to eat some flies. Adam wished he could be more like that tiny frog.

Without the eating flies bit, though. 

Maybe, maybe, Kenny missed him and this was his way of making up for that lost time. Hanging around while Adam worked out or by taking care of his ‘injuries.’ The guilt that he should’ve been in the street fight with Kenny, and not Matt Hardy, or been on the field first, blunted by Kenny’s concern. They’d been apart for a while. Maybe, this was what they needed before they walked face-first into a brawl. 

The elevator doors opened and they traded spots with a businessman in a three-piece. Adam had no idea his hotel hallway was this long, but it took forever to reach his door at the end of it on his bum leg. Kenny relinquished his hold on Adam long enough for Adam to open the door with the card key. Adam worked the key back into his wallet and the wallet back into his pocket. Before Kenny could grab him again though, Adam shouldered open the door and walked into the room. He flinched on the first step, growling to himself as pain shot up his leg. Prepared for the hit though, Adam’s next stride was more confident and he was about ready to turn around, to joke it wasn’t that bad, to assuage Kenny. Two hands landed on his shoulder.

“Oh, no, not on my watch,” Kenny grunted, “no, sir.”

He hooked Adam’s arm around his neck and all but carried him the last couple steps to the bed. Adam rolled his eyes almost out of their sockets. Adam sat down on the covers, and swung his leg-up to cross at the ankles, his brow lifted. He interlaced his fingers on his stomach, and looked-up at Kenny with resigned exhaustion. As if to say, ‘ok, now what?’

“You stay, I’m going to get some ice,” Kenny said, pointing at Adam. He pulled back a step. Eyes locked on Adam, still pointing, backing-up slowly. “I mean it, stay, don’t move, if I come back and you’ve moved a muscle, a singular muscle, one iota of a muscle, oh, ho, ho, you’ll be in big trouble!”

Kenny had backed all the way to the door, not taking his eyes off Adam, and he pawed at the handle behind him. Adam watched his hand miss and Kenny admit that he had to turn around to open the door. Yet, even then Kenny still turned back and made a double-eye gesture between Adam and himself.

“Hey, Kenny,” Adam said. He removed his wallet from his pocket and flashed the card key. “Think you might need this? You know, so I don't have to get up and let you in when you lock yourself out?"

Kenny paused, then marched back into the room to snatch the card key. “Thank you very much— and no moving!”

“Will, you just fucking go?” Adam snapped.

The door closed behind Kenny. For a second Adam laid there, braced-up against the pillows and hand pattering a random rhythm against his thigh. He listened to the traffic outside, the tick-tock of the wall clock, and the distant murmur of voices elsewhere in the hotel. Last night, in his exhausted stupor, Adam had left his phone to ‘charge’ on the dresser. Except he forgot to plug it in and so this morning — shockingly— the phone was not charged. He had left it in his room to juice-up while he worked-out and now, his eyes flicked to where it sat on the other side of the room. Adam slid off the bed, limped over to the desk, cursing his leg again, and picked up the phone. He flicked through some Twitter notifications and messaged his mom. Adam braced his foot on the armchair, and rubbed at his knee, scowling to himself at the bursts of pain. If he had been smart he wouldn’t have done squats today— or did fewer weights. Instead, under the watchful eyes of his crush, Adam had decided to show off.

It wasn’t a big deal. He’d fought through way worse, and at best, this was annoyance that would put a slight hitch in his step for a day. If he went to the trainers they’d put him in a compression sleeve and tell him to dial back. A small pulled knee wasn't anything to fuss over.

The latch on the door clicked. Adam hurried back to the bed. He settled down just as Kenny pushed open the door. A bag of ice swung from his far hand and he stepped into the bathroom to grab a towel. Adam laid his phone down at his side and pressed the off-button as Kenny crossed the room over to him. 

“You didn’t move did you?” Kenny asked. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped the towel around Adam’s knee. 

“Uh, no,” Adam said. Kenny’s eyes flicked to Adam’s hand and the phone tucked against his palm.“Not a muscle.”

Kenny placed the bag of ice on Adam’s leg. “How’s that?”

“That’s— fine,” Adam murmured. “Thanks, man.”

“Hey, no problem, that’s what partners are supposed to do, right?” Kenny asked, grinning. He straightened and rolled out his shoulders.

Adam scooted over on the bed and patted beside him. Kenny stared at him for a second, blinking kinda like a goldfish, before he swung his legs up and settled on the mattress next to Adam. They sat elbow-to-elbow, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the blank TV and far wall together. They both smelled like sweat and generic guy, not a pretty cocktail of scents. Yet, the camaraderie, the closeness, the human _contact,_ set Adam’s skin on fire, fingers tingling. Like he’d been sober for too long and taken his first drink— totally overwhelming. Adam scrubbed his hand down his face. Then he nudged Kenny with his elbow.

“Seriously, though man, you okay?” Adam asked. “Like, no bullshit, and not just about last night. I know I’ve been, I’ve been out for a bit and kinda left you in a lurch.”

“I had my first street fight,” Kenny commented. He hooked his leg underneath him.

“How’d that go?” Adam asked.

“Evidently, it looked like my first street fight,” Kenny laughed. “I hate to admit it, but I'm not as hardcore as you. But, no, I’ve been good, fine, missing you-- missing this thing we had. I mean Matt Hardy’s great and all, and it’s not like I would ever turn down the chance to tag with one of the best but-- it wasn’t the same. We really have something special, Page.”

“You know, I fought Matt Hardy in a TLC in 2013,” Adam noted. “Weird to see him again now— being so, weird."

“Really, how was that?” Kenny remarked.

“Oh, he kicked my ass,” Adam said, with a bark of laughter. It was an impossible match against a man who’d been fighting longer than Adam had been alive. Somethings never changed. Small town boy dreaming big, he had really believed going in that he had a chance. “The promo I cut for that match? Yeah, that’s how I pissed off the Decade.”

Adam paused, he remembered how Jimmy Jacobs verbally cut him down for daring to reach higher than Ring of Honor. The way BJ kicked his ass and insisted that Adam was squandering his potential. The first time Adam limped on a pulled knee and how instead of an offered hand, Adam got a closed fist. Those old guys were brutal, violent, but they taught him. Not intentionally, because they saw his potential, the inevitability that Page would surpass them. Instead, Adam watched, and he learned. He learned, he learned _really_ good, and evidently, those lessons stuck. Stuck better than anything his high school teachers or college professors ever taught him. Never to shake the hand of someone beneath him, or who _thought_ they were above him. There was no respect in the ring. He was never to show weakness, never show fear, and if he was scared, he was to get angry instead. The seeds of the brutal, mean, and cold Hangman planted by two years of black eyes, and growing resentment. Sometimes, it was so much, Adam needed to go into the woods to hide because he couldn’t wrap his head around all the _crap_ he had learned. Crazy, how those lessons stuck, four, almost five years later. How he lived them out with his partner, here, now. Trying to walk on a bum leg and dismissing his pain, as if Kenny was anything like Jimmy Jacobs. Dismissing the swirling thoughts in his head. 

And Adam wondered if part of the reason he couldn't talk to the Bucks was that deep in his heart, he didn't trust them. 

“It was strange, though,” Adam admitted, it sounded like a sudden topic shift but his thoughts were tangled and the jump wasn't far in his head. “Like the whole time I was out there, on my own, camping --And I mean, I was just in the Appalachian, I’d been camping there my whole life-- all I could think about was coming back. I should’ve been relaxing, but I just, I wanted to come back. It was kinda like, I don’t know— there’s just been so much shit this past year, maybe, I thought I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know.”

He hoped Kenny knew because Adam didn’t know how else to explain it. Sitting out there with the frogs and crickets, listening to the stream babble. Hiking a few miles, setting up camp on a new rise, until he slogged back to his car, a slightly different man. For a day or two, Adam could focus on the birds, the sky, the vast expanse of empty woods. Then, his brain turned around and he was back in Jacksonville, Florida. Reliving those matches, thinking about his mistakes. The Bucks, Kenny, his destructive losses, and his self-destructive responses. An eight-ounce of Whiskey didn’t last him longer than a small shot a night, but by the second week, he was out. Right now, with Kenny, he was probably the most detoxed he’d been in almost eight months. Stuck with his incessant thoughts and pounding heart, like the jaws theme was playing in the back of his head. Take another sip, ease the pain, and wonder, why the hell had he come back?

Why did he keep coming back, like a masochistic, a glutton for punishment?

Adam picked at the fabric of his shorts. Losing to Chris, losing to Mox, united by their losses, divided by their victories. Coming together in this tag-team felt like a desperate move to stem the bleeding of their hemorrhaging hearts. Adam wasn’t sure it was ever the right move. Right, he was going to step out of the shadow of the Elite by tagging with the leader of the Elite. Sitting next to Kenny, felt right, but holding gold felt no different to Adam than being without it. He really thought a title would change him. It didn't, he was still Adam page, selfish and mean, and carrying more baggage than he cared to admit. Now though, he just had a stupid little hallow, _accomplishment_ to his name.

“Yeah, I mean, if AEW didn’t come around, I’d have retired, quit, left,” Kenny said, shrugging. “I was just so broken down after Japan-- but I found something worth fighting for, worth sticking around for. So, I get it, it’s hard, coming back after a loss, but I think that’s why this team was good for both of us. It gave us a purpose. You’ll get back on that horse, Adam. Long as I’ve known you, you always have.”

Adam grinned and admitted, “Yeah, and we’ve had a helluva run, I wouldn’t mind keeping it going. Never thought we'd get this far and at this point, I just wanna— I wanna see how far we go.”

“I told you we had something special,” Kenny said, he patted Adam’s thigh. He pointed at his temple. “I have a sixth sense for this kinda thing.”

A sixth sense, a knowledge that there was more to things than what they appeared at face value. For a moment Adam speculated on what Kenny saw in him. If he started with the alcohol, the empty whiskey bottles, and crushed beer cans. Or, if he started with his behavior towards the Bucks, the way that his supposed best friends brought out the worst in him. The meanest, most vicious, and selfish parts of Adam, poisoned by his own inferiority complex. The way he couldn’t break this cycle of arguments and running off alone. Because Adam didn’t know how to express the problem in a way Kenny and the Bucks would understand. That it hurt when they set themselves above him. Gave him tag-titles runs —or maybe just used him to get a belt— and gifted him: ‘ _Matches of the Year.’_ Like he was a charity case. Then, turned around and said, ‘no, we don’t look down on you!’ Maybe, Kenny just saw someone who’d be a good partner. Adam had been tagging for years. He and Jason Blade were tag-champions in Mid-Atlantic Wrestling. Adam had stood at the ring post with the Young Bucks, watching and learning from the best of the best. He had the skill, the knowledge, the power, to help carry a tag title belt. Maybe that was why Kenny singled him out. Maybe Kenny saw Adam's determination, his drive, his skill, the softness of his heart, and how he bled red at the slightest provocation.

What Adam _wanted_ Kenny to see was that he was worthy of gold. That on his own, standing on his own two feet, he could carry a title. Not just a regional title, but the world, international, the best-of-the-best. That there was that spark, that fire in him, that he could push the boundary. That he wasn’t content one step over and two behind. Relegated to the background shot. The Bucks tried to stomp him down, put him in back in his place as a loyal foot soldier, and Adam had responded by knocking their damn heads off. Adam didn’t want Kenny, or Nick, or Matt, to have to look over their shoulder to see him. But just a little to the left and Adam was right there, next to them. Even if the vilest parts of himself called for Adam to push in front of Kenny and the Bucks, that wasn’t what he _wanted._ He just wanted to be their friend, like they were friends with each other. Equals, belonging, _good enough,_ for the title of Elite. 

And he could feel it, he wasn’t good enough yet. 

That was why he came back-- to prove he was good enough.

When the tag team ended, did this, this moment constructed in a hotel room with ice and towels, crumble too? Even worse, Adam wondered if this great accomplishment —AEW Tag-team Champion with Kenny Omega— stood alone. That all his success and legacy amounted to the bones the Elite threw him. Because they happened to include him in a BTE bit or because they held his hand through a tag-title run. The sick, twisted part of Adam wished that it was just him, holding this title and that Kenny wasn’t here at all. And yet, Adam couldn’t kick Kenny out of this room, or out of his bed. Because he didn’t want Kenny to move from this spot, elbow-to-elbow. He missed the ring, he missed the fight, and he missed the chance to prove what he could do. Because Adam could spend years in the wilderness, and he’d still wander out, beard overgrown, eyes wild, itching to write a story that was his own.

But most of all, maybe, he had missed Kenny.

“Okay, Kenny, this is great but I want breakfast,” Adam said. He glanced over at his partner. “And listen, I get— I get you’re worried about my leg, but I promise it’s not that bad. I can walk, man. It’ll be fine. Just, trust me? Yeah?”

Kenny paused, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I mean, yeah, of course, I guess, I really can’t keep you here all day. That’s a little unrealistic but, you’ve been away for a while. You can’t blame me for trying to make up for lost time by fussing, a little right? And you have a history of talking down when you’re hurt.”

The look Kenny gave him told Adam that he knew exactly why that was. Which was kinda nice, because Adam wasn’t sure he could tell him or even apologize for the way he fell back on old habits. Years later and he still couldn’t shake hands. Yet, as much as the Decade had changed Adam, he liked to believe that the Elite changed him more. Yeah, BJ taught him to not show his injuries and to patch his own wounds, but just as much, Adam didn’t want his friends to worry. Mostly because it always shocked Adam that he was worthy of that worry. 

“So, yeah,” Kenny said. “I guess I can let you out of the bed, but listen, let me know if you’re in pain or injured, okay? We’re partners, we’re in this _together,_ and you— you can trust me. I’m not going to look down on you or anything just because you’re hurt, I want to help. So, please, trust me. This shit has to go both ways if it's going to work.”

“Do I get breakfast if I say 'yes?'” Adam asked. He leaned over a bit, pressing his shoulder against Kenny and offering him a soft smile. If it got him bacon, Adam was willing to resort to puppy dog eyes. 

Kenny chuckled, then nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say.”

“Then, yeah, I got it,” Adam said, nodding. He flipped over the hand on his leg and offered it to Kenny. Kenny took it and squeezed, strong but reassuring. Felt better that way than when it had just been his hand alone, and Adam hated it, but he loved it. “I’ll— try.”

Kenny released Adam’s hand with one last squeeze and slipped off the bed. Adam swung his legs off the edge of the mattress and took the half-melted bag of ice off his knee. Even just that little time had made it feel better. “Let me get a shower and I’ll meet you down in the lobby. And, Kenny?”

Kenny paused, at the entrance of the hall leading out of the room. He turned, glancing back at Adam, quizzical. 

“Thanks, man,” Adam said. He ducked his head and eyes, suddenly bashful. 

Adam ran his fingers through his hair. Small tangles caught and his golden curls unraveled from knots. He had something else to say but the words stalled out there as Kenny placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder, suddenly back at his side, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. A real lip-smacker exclaimed with a, “Mwah!” 

“To make it better,” Kenny stated, simply, as he straightened. He breathed a laugh, “I’ll see you downstairs in ten.”

Adam gaped as Kenny escaped the hotel room. The door closed behind him and all Adam could do was place his hand on his cheek where Kenny kissed him. Felt the warmth of a budding blush that darkened his face. That was the exact wrong kinda positive reinforcement. Because now all Adam could think about was that he should get hurt more often. 


End file.
